


Atque In Perpetuum, Pater, Ave Atque Vale (And Forever, Father, Hail And Farewell)

by Flufflybunnypants



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU where Sam stays at Stanford, Canonical Character Death, Dead John Winchester, Gen, and Dean and John keep hunting together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-12
Updated: 2015-08-12
Packaged: 2018-04-14 07:41:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4556343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flufflybunnypants/pseuds/Flufflybunnypants
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam stays at Stanford, John and Dean keep hunting. This is a snapshot of Dean burying his father, so the death is not described. It's more about Dean.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Atque In Perpetuum, Pater, Ave Atque Vale (And Forever, Father, Hail And Farewell)

**Author's Note:**

> My life is falling apart and I am grieving two men who were dear to me. This is largely a derivation of that pain, so be gentle with me please.

Dean knew it would come to this, knows that someday, maybe soon, it'll be him.  
He spends the morning chopping wood, tossing the green branches away and keeping the dry logs. Under the unforgiving sun he builds the pyre, stacking it high. He does the job of both sons, alone when Sam should be at his side. It shouldn’t matter; he's been the only child for years now.

He works until his shirt is soaked with sweat and his muscles are screaming. He doesn't pause to admire his work when he's done; instead he dusts his hands off and goes inside. He's got a small window of time to finish this job before he has to hit the road again. He’s bitterly grateful that the cabin is in a remote location.

John's wrapped in a pauper's shroud, a cheap, dusty sheet. It's easier with his face veiled; Dean can forget his father's fear and fury. He can _almost_ pretend it was a moronic civie who got himself killed. The tightly wrapped body lies stiffly on the floor, as impersonal as the rest of the cabin. Dean’s body aches from the effort of carrying John's dead weight back to their base last night, but that pain pales beside the storm building in Dean's heart.

He hefts the corpse into his arms and lays it on the pyre. His father looks small lying there, a speck of white on a veritable felled forest. He gathers all the bloody rags and his ruined shirt and bundles them at Jonh’s feet. It’s best not to leave any blood for a spirit to hang onto. Not even John could find fault with these funeral rites.

Dean clasps his father's shoulder, over the sheet. His voice raspy with unshed tears, he solemnly sighs, "Goodbye, Dad."

The irony is that John likely would have chastised him for delaying the process with sentimentality. He soaks the sheet with kerosene, turning away before he can see the macabre visage through the now-translucent shroud. He strikes a match and throws it onto the pyre. He steps back from the ensuing fireball, tugging the bandanna around his neck up over his mouth and nose. He stands there, at parade rest, until the fire burns to cinders. As the fire dwindles, Dean remembers Sam practicing some poem for a high school class. He can almost hear Sam’s soft voice muttering, “And forever, hail and farewell,” and that, more than anything, forces him to grit his teeth against the tears welling up in his eyes.

He leaves the smoking remains where they lie. On the yellowed roadmap in the Impala’s glove compartment, he marks John’s death with a red X. He packs everything they’d brought up here into the trunk, saving Dad's clothes with the justification that he can't afford to waste anything. He'll never wear them.

On the way out of town he makes a stop at the post office.

One week later, a thousand miles away, Sam fishes an envelope out of his mailbox. He's gotten used to Dean sending him little trinkets after successful hunts. It helps him keep track of Dean(and maybe it’s reassuring to know Dean’s still out there). When he shakes out a hastily scratched note on a receipt for beer and a dog tag, his heart feels like it's caught in a vise.

The note simply reads, "He's gone, Sammy." It’s signed with a little lopsided D.

Sam makes it to his car before he breaks down, desperately missing his big brother.

**Author's Note:**

> I kinda want to make this a series, where Sam finds Dean, but it really does depend on the feedback I get here. 
> 
> The title and poem Dean remembers are both from Catullus 101 a very sad elegiac poem in Latin about a brother who was taken too soon. I have modified it slightly.


End file.
